Upon his leaving his MISTRESS.

I. ’Tis not that I am weary grown Of being yours, and yours alone: But with what Face can I incline, To damn you to be only mine? You, whom some kinder Pow’r did fashion, By Merit, and by Inclination, The Joy at least of a whole Nation. ⎫ ⎬ ⎭ II. Let meaner Spirits of your Sex, With humble Aims their Thoughts perplex: And boast, if, by their Arts they can Contrive to make one happy Man. While, mov’d by an impartial Sense, Favours, like Nature you dispense, With universal Influence. ⎫ ⎬ ⎭ III. See the kind Seed-receiving Earth, To ev’ry Grain affords a Birth: On her no Show’rs unwelcom fall, Her willing Womb retains ’em all. And shall my Cælia be confin’d? No, live up to thy mighty Mind; And be the Mistress of Mankind. ⎫ ⎬ ⎭